


Your Darker Light

by BrightLotusMoon



Series: In Darkness And Light [1]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Break the Cutie, Brother Feels, Creepy, Epilepsy, Family Feels, Haunting, Insanity, Mikey Is An Iron Woobie, Psychic Abilities, Psychological Horror, Seizures, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 16:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightLotusMoon/pseuds/BrightLotusMoon
Summary: My contribution to the 2017 TMNT Fanbook "Darkest Nights" created by SampsonKnight, which can be downloaded from Tumblr or Deviant Art. Michelangelo is haunted and driven to the edge, even as his family struggles to fight something that can't be touched.





	Your Darker Light

**Author's Note:**

> This is unconnected to my other fics other than "Laugh Til It Hurts". It contains my running theme of Mikey naturally having ESP.  
> I might do a sequel if I'm motivated.

Shhh.

The voice was softer than air, it could’ve been his own breath in his sleep.

Shhh.

A violent emotional sensation rippled through his entire body, but he was used to that. He had been born an empath. Mutated an empath. Whatever. He sensed things. People. Objects. Environments. Sometimes it was clairvoyance, clairsentience. He’d read about it. Father said he used to have small seizures as a child, and sometimes he still did shortly before and after each psychic experience. He liked to keep it hidden on the down-low, so his brothers couldn’t take advantage of it on patrol. His oldest brother had this habit, sometimes, of glancing at him in expectation and anticipation.

Michelangelo hovered between sleep and wake, trying to decide if it was worth moving. Everything felt heavy and blissful and he was comfortable in that sweet sinking warm way. The hush of breath and the violent emotion dug into him again, like tiny claws. None of it was him, and none of it felt like his family.

Sighing, Michelangelo pried open his eyes and stared at his bedroom ceiling. He didn’t want to move. But the feeling insisted. He managed to sit up, yawning and lazily stretching and muttering. His alarm clock told him it was exactly six in the morning. So, Leonardo would be up, practicing a kata, and Splinter would be up, meditating. He could get breakfast started, brew Donatello’s coffee, see if the fridge still had any bacon or sausage for Raphael.

At the end of his bed, a warm small thing stirred. Klunk mewled, stretching and walking into Mikey’s lap, touching his warm nose up to Mike’s cheek. “Morning, buddy,” Mikey smiled, massaging his orange tabby’s head. “Time for breakfast.” Klunk trill-purrred and hopped down, probably sensing Mike’s intent. Cats could be empathic. April had said that.

After Mikey had managed to beg April and Casey to buy him newer comics, April called his ability something better. Telempathy? She had been graciously reading comics along with him, since she was buying them, and she and had really gotten into this one series about kids with mental superpowers and there was this whole power type for psychics, and she had used the term telempath. He guessed the actual phrasing didn’t matter. 

Maybe it did. He should talk to Donnie. The sensation rolled over him again, a cross between a migraine and freezing cold. His mind automatically grasped at the sensation; he felt his own nimble spiritual fingers just brush the edge of _something_ and

SSHHHH!

Klunk growled, tail puffed up. Michelangelo opened his mouth to assure that everything was fine, and then it was like his whole brain froze up in electric shock, bursting inside its own prison, and his entire body went into a massive spasm and he tumbled out of bed, limbs spread. His right temple and side cracked against the floor.

His cat let out a grating scream like a scared kitten crying for its mother. Mikey heard it, wanted to rush to Klunk and scoop him up, but he couldn’t move. His ribs shrieked. He felt both searing  cold and stabbing heat run down his spine through his limbs. He couldn’t move. His hands were shaking, he tried to call out and it came out a strangled gasp. His eyelids closed halfway, his eyes rolled up.  
  
A memory rushed at him: He was little, he was maybe ten, he was in the dojo, lying on his side, and he was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering. Daddy – Master Splinter – had lifted his head onto his lap and was stroking his cheek, and his cheek was wet, was he crying? And his brothers were kneeling there, shock and fear on their faces. And he heard himself as if underwater, “The tunnel collapsed, the workers are trapped, somebody help them!” And then another voice, like a physical presence, had hissed at him “ _Shhhh! The creature will sense you! Push it down, little one, pull it in!”_ And he had sucked in a huge cold breath and felt his body go limp. Energy that had been pouring out of him slowed to a trickle. The voice, that physical presence inside him, had scooped it up and carefully poured it back into his head, between his eyes, and he remembered Sensei’s lessons about the third eye. Whatever he had seen faded to whiteness. He had opened his eyes, whispering “Father? Sensei?” and his voice had been shaking. His immediate older brother, the tiny engineer, Donatello, was holding his wrists really tightly, his wraps pushed up so his brothers fingers could press into his flesh. “His…his pulse is starting to slow down a little, but his breathing is even,” and Donnie had been shaking. “He had a seizure! He had a seizure, Father!” And Splinter had palmed Donnie’s head and said, “I know, my son, he will be all right, this is not the first time. I have read the medical books. It appears Michelangelo may have a form of reflexive epilepsy, along with his ADHD. It also seems that his spiritual abilities are much stronger than even mine. They seem to connect to these…episodes.” Mikey had listened to Leo worry about tunnels and workers, to Splinter soothingly saying that they could not help but that he could sense rescue and aid approaching. Before he had fallen into a comfortable doze, little Michelangelo heard his sensei, his father, say that all would be well, and that they would look out for him.

The memory blurred. He was staring at his orange tabby who was staring at him, meowing loudly in that distressed way of a cat with an injured colony member. He couldn’t stop _shaking._

A voice all around him, inside him, soft and sickly sweet in its desire. “ _I will take you. I will ease your pain. Give yourself to me, my darling light heart.”_

And another voice, lighter and higher. “No, pull back, My Angel.” _Michelangelo. My…Angel…?_ “Pull away. He wishes to eat you.”

Mikey shivered and sweat dripped from him and he whimpered.

His bedroom door slammed open.

“Mikey!” Raphael screamed.

Klunk yowled.

Pain shot through Mikey’s right side and he came back to himself, and the entities hovering around him were gone.

“Ouch,” he murmured, and tried to sit up. Pain shot through him and he hissed. Then Raphael was crouching in front on him, and strong muscled arms were around him, lifting him high like a child. Raph was sprinting, calling out names. Mike swallowed and leaned his head on his brother’s overly muscular shoulder. His right shoulder and arm were suddenly aching, madly, and his fingertips started going numb.

He was placed on a narrow bed. He recognized it – the hospital cot that Casey, Raph, and Leatherhead had “rescued” from an abandoned clinic and set up in a part of Donnie’s lab space. There were two of them. This was the bigger one. Pillows were fluffed under his head and he groaned as something brushed against his throbbing head.

Donnie’s voice drifted over him, incredibly soft. “You’ll be okay, Mikey. You took a hell of a hit. Fall out of bed, huh?”

Raph’s voice was harsh, clogged. “I was walking to his door to wake him, and I heard the super obvious sound of his body crashing onto the floor, and then the damn cat was screamin’, and I kicked open the door and Mike was in a seizure.” He coughed, as though he had said too much and it hurt.

“Okay,” Don was saying. “Mikey? If you can hear me, you landed mostly on your head and I think you’ve got a grade three concussion. Also, two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. Raph? Grab me the…” Don’s voice began to fade as a rolling fog settled in. In the distance, Leonardo and Master were talking. Mike couldn’t make out the words. He tried to lift his head and a wave of screaming nausea made his body shiver; he tried to swallow again but it came out as an odd hiccup. Splinter said something, loudly, and suddenly warm paws were rolling him onto his left side and his head was throbbing and he couldn’t control the horrible spasm of bile that swept from his gut to his throat. It burned all the way. He coughed and gasped, panting, and he whimpered, feeling tears in his eyes.

“It is all right, my son,” his father was saying, and those warm paws stroked the back of his head, wiping at the sweat. “Do not apologize. Head injuries often lead to violent sickness. You might feel better in a few moments.” Mikey blinked, seeing the metal bowl balanced in his sensei’s hand. His face felt heated. He hated puking.

Leonardo was there, holding him by the shoulders, tipping a bottle of water to his mouth. “Rinse and spit, Mike,” he said, and Mikey instinctively obeyed, aiming for the smaller metal bowl in Leo’s other hand. Leo helped him drink the rest of the bottle. He muttered a scratchy thanks with a cough. He felt so _tired_.

“We need to get your arm back in,” Leo was saying gently, and Michelangelo grunted again. He let Leo and Splinter hold him as Don and Raph came to his other side. The pain he was feeling in his head, the distress in his mind, helped to block the agony of having his dislocated joint slammed back in. He still shrieked. No one would blame him.

He was settled against the pillows, gently massaged by his oldest brother and his father, as his immediate older brother prodded his injuries and his second oldest brother paced like a grim guard.

“No falling asleep just yet, Mikey,” Don was saying. “I need to know what you remember. Can you tell me your name? Where you are? Our names? Your cat’s name?”

Mikey mumbled his answers, already bored, but apparently the slowness of his replies had Donnie concerned. Light was shone in his eyes and Don did exercises with his hands.

“I need you to stand up now.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Michelangelo sat up, swaying as his head started pulsing and ringing, and got to his feet. Before Donnie could tell him to take a step, he collapsed, legs shaking. Raph was there in a blink, picking him up like a princess and putting him in the bed.

“Do your tests later, Donatello.”

“Raphael, this is standard procedure for both head injuries and seizures--”

And you’ll do ‘em once he’s feelin’ better!” Raph’s thick Brooklyn accent became harsh when he was anxious. "He couldn’t even follow your lil pen light wit’ both eyes!”

“That’s what worries me! There may have been neurological trauma and it needs to be addressed immediately! Especially with his epilepsy and his psychic sensitivity! I need to call April and Leatherhead.”

“At this hour?”

“They’ll come running, they always do.”

Mikey was having too much trouble following the conversation, and his head and side hurt far too much. “’m thirsty,” he whispered. “Don’ feel good. Are the voices gone?”

Splinters hands on his face, worry and fear in his dark eyes. “You will have water. What voices, Michelangelo? Your own thoughts? A vision, perhaps?”

He turned his face into the pillow, taking slow breaths to push past his pain. “Dunno. In my room. I fel’…I felt…em…emo’shal…sens…sens…feelings. Like…hurting, like no words. Bad. Um. V-violent. Hurty. Nobody’s. But…voices. Heard voices. My head hurts, Dad.”

Splinter’s paw was over his forehead and nearly covering his eyes. He sank into the warmth, the familiarity. Then someone was helping him sit up. He was leaning heavily back against Leo’s torso, head nearly tipped back onto Leo’s left shoulder.

“Come on, Mikey,” Leo was saying. “Donnie’s got medication right here. Just swallow the pills.”

Oh, right. Water. Yes please. Mikey reached out with shaking hands. Someone helped tip the water into his mouth, then two tablets were on his tongue. He tipped his head back swallowing, then drank, so grateful that he exaggerated his gulps. He heard Raphael smile and mutter “Chucklehead.”

The water was gone too quickly and he whined for more.

“I will make you some soup and some herbal tea,” Splinter said. “Do not worry, I will add plenty of honey.” Inwardly Mikey laughed; one of these days he would just slam down those herbal concoctions easily. He was twenty years old and he had eaten things most sentient beings would gag at. Yet for some reason certain herbal drinks had him struggling to suppress a gag reflex he’d forgotten he still had, sort of.

Something in the back of his head whispered “ _I’ll have you. Later. I will eat you and no one will know. Enjoy yourself, sunshine child.”_

A vicious shiver took over him. Leonardo’s arms tightened around his waist; Raphael grabbed his hands. “Mikey?” That was Donnie. “Mikey, talk to us. Is it another seizure? Clairvoyance?”

He groaned. “I…I dunno. I keep…keep hearin’ a voice.”

“What is it saying?” Leo’s breath was warm against his head.

Mikey bit his lip. He knew they would believe him; it wasn’t a question of that. He was afraid of what would happen if he said it out loud. “Um…just…just whispering. I think it said…um…It’s gonna get me.”

Raph raised his eyeridges. “Sounds like one of your old horror movies.”

Mikey just nodded and kept his head low. He wished those painkillers would kick in sooner.

“We won’t let anything hurt you, little brother,” Leo said, and Mikey managed a tiny smile. It had been a while since they had called him that, but it had been a while since he’d had any major episodes. The concoctions Donnie and Splinter made for him usually worked. Donnie kept saying it would be better if April could get prescription medicine, but their lives just didn’t work like that.

The emotions and the sensations and the buzzing slammed into his skull again, and his body acted on its own – arching up, head thrown back, and he could _feel_ the phantasm pushing into him like a non-Newtonian fluid turning mist. It was trying to _eat_ him. He screamed and there was no sound. He distantly felt his arms punching out, pain radiating out, but it didn’t feel like _him_ anymore; he was a ghost inside himself, falling through layers of his soul. The thing, the phantom, the wraith, whatever it was, it gripped him with clawed fingernails like serrated blades, yanking until Mikey began to sense something rip, a feeling like sinew from bone, crackling and crunching, and he shrieked and struggled, and blood splattered all over him, and in the distance he could hear more voices. The sensations were phantoms themselves, his body removed from his brain’s concept of _sense_ and _thought_ and feeling. His psychic sensitivities flared up and then it was as if a light turned on and flooded his environment. The _creature_ forcing itself inside him had its hand up to its wrist inside Mikey’s chest, through a crack in the plastron, fingers lengthening along the rib cage, snaking around toward the organs within. Mikey blinked against his own psychic light and focused as hard as he could; his mind desperately tried to block it out for his sanity.

Hah. There was no sanity here.

The thing reminded him of a decaying humanoid corpse with an elongated mouth and long sharp teeth that curved back. The eyesockets were filled with a dim yellow light, like a candle. Its free arm lifted and the fingers lengthened, and then it was holding him by the back of the neck, moving in a bizarre serpentine dance. His frozen mind couldn’t process everything at once, but the psychic part, the shield, pushed into the forefront.  
  
_It’s a nightmare. It’s a seizure. It’s a vision. It isn’t real. Close your eyes._

No.

Michelangelo grasped the freezing bony arm and squeezed. The wraith growled. There was a very sudden cracking noise. The mouth opened wide and it howled, and Mikey could hear pain.

Good.

He began to carefully pull, shakily taking a step backwards. The fingers inside his ribs spasmed and nausea rolled through him.

_It’s just a nightmare. Shut your eyes. Don’t look!_

Gritting his teeth, Mikey ignored that other voice, that sanity that insisted he try to pretend this wasn’t happening. If he was going to lose himself to a phantasm, he was going to make sure it was real and that he could touch it, cage it so it couldn’t hurt his brothers.

As the hand and wrist began to slide back and back with sickening suction, Michelangelo sensed another mist surround him, comforting and kind, a different phantom, embracing him. He began to feel sleepy. He kept pulling and stepping back, until the creature’s hand was out of his chest, dripping with gore.

His chest hurt. His lungs felt bruised. He wanted to wake up now. It could be a nightmare later. He was ready to leave his mind and come back to the world now. He was so tired.

It wasn’t working.

The wraith-thing let out a wheezing noise. It might have been laughter. Michelangelo bent forward and coughed. Blood filled his mouth and spattered against his feet. This wasn’t right. This shouldn’t be happening. He had trained so hard with Splinter. He should be able to get back into his body!

“It’s all right, my sunshine,” an androgynous voice cooed. “Let me hold you. You must rest. The battle is not over.”

“N-no. I don’t know you. I can’t see you.” The light was blinding, but it was still his own.

“You aren’t meant to see me. Just close your eyes. He is wounded; you’ve won for now. Let yourself rest.”

“Wait, but…” Mikey struggled harder against the desperate need to sleep. “My body, I need to be in my body.”

“Shhh,” the kind ghost murmured. “Be at ease.”

There was a long, heavy darkness, a blanket of emptiness.

Voices and air and pressure and noise.

Mikey’s eyelids fluttered. That tiny motion exploded his senses. He sucked in a dry breath; his throat was sore and the inside of his mouth tasted like copper and iron.

He concentrated on his right arm muscles and moved his fingers easily. A familiar hand closed comfortingly around them.

“Mike?” Donatello’s voice was scratchy and sore as if he’d not slept at all. “Squeeze my hand, Mike.”

Mikey squeezed and found himself weak. His eyelids moved again and then he coughed, dry and coarse, and then a straw was pressed against his lips. When he instinctively sucked in, there was cool water that tasted like lime. Ah, the electrolyte formula Raph kept around along with the protein shakes.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. They, too, were dry, and he felt his eyelids peel away from his eyeballs. Everything was blurry. The large moving green blur hovered over him, and suddenly liquid dripped into each eye. Saline solution. He slowly blinked. He saw Donnie now, looking haggard and terrified and on the brink of collapse. Donnie’s hand was cool against Mikey’s forehead. Mikey opened his mouth and his tongue instantly felt like swollen cotton. Again, Don gave him the water. Knowing the routine, Mikey held it in his mouth for a moment before slowly swallowing.

“I know you probably can’t talk right now,” Donatello said, in a voice that was hollow and sad and strained. “Don’t try to. I’ve been monitoring your vitals. You’ve already gone through three saline IV bags. Whatever spiritual monstrosity that was taking you over was wreaking havoc on your systems. When you…killed it or pushed it out or whatever, you became physically dehydrated and developed a hemothorax. Can you feel the tubes in your torso?”

Mikey frowned, focusing on his left side. Oh, wait – yes. He breathed in slowly and felt a…a something. His lungs expanded and something _moved_ , foreign and plastic. The chest tube. An involuntary shiver went through him.

“Leatherhead and April managed to bring in a lot of equipment thanks to April’s hospital contacts.” Donnie seemed to be talking just to talk. “You were out of it for a week and that was enough time to perform the operation and allow recovery physically, but Master Splinter says that your spiritual and psychic recovery is much slower and delicate. You’ve been breathing well. You’ve been responding to little touches. It seems that most of the damage is psychic. Because of these hauntings. And I can’t exactly insert tubes to drain a phantasm, you know.”

Mikey blinked at him, trying to project thanks and comfort. He felt his power flow into his brother and Donnie instantly relaxed. “Thanks, Mikey. Try and rest, okay? Raph and Leo should be home from patrol any minute and—ah, here they come.”

“He’s awake!” Leo sounded joyful and exhausted. Mikey watched as Raph rushed over and froze for a second before very gently resting his head on Mikey’s shoulder in lieu of a hug. Raph’s breath came in shallow gasps. Mikey stroked his head and let his power out, calm and comfort and love and _I am here, all is well, I love you_ and letting the physical tension release. Raph started shivering, and Leo gently gathered him back, laying a hand on Mikey’s face. “Hell of a fight, little brother,” he said proudly. Mikey just looked at him, the smile in his eyes.

_“It isn’t over. I am still here. I will eat your light. I cannot be killed.”_

He tried not to shudder, and just gratefully squeezed the hands that held him, reassured him. His mind was still clear. He was not falling.

****

 Something was chipping away at the back of his mind, causing thin spiderweb cracks. He whined, pushing back, trying to throw more light at it. Darkness opened under him and he began to fall. Light and energy shot from his fingers and his eyes and his mouth and spread over the cracks, but the shattershot sound of glass crackling made him want to scream.

“No,” he murmured. “No, let go. Get away from me, get _out_ of me.”

Something soft, damp, and cold was pressed against his forehead.

“I don’t think they are hallucinations,” Master Splinter was saying. “He seems to be in a trance state, battling this demon creature that has attached itself to his spirit. It seems to be taking his mind slowly, bit by bit.”

“There’s nothing we can do?” Leo asked, sounding strained. “Nothing at all?”

A pause.

“If we were to meditate and find Michelangelo’s spirit, we may be trapped in the battle ground. Michelangelo’s abilities would be our only way out. I am afraid this is a battle that we cannot participate in, my sons. All we can do is monitor his body and spirit.”

A huffing growl from Raphael. “So there’s nothing to punch, nothing to hurt, and we gotta stand around and watching Mikey bein’ tortured from the inside out? What the hell good is that!”

There was a long silence.

“They can’t help you,” the wraith whispered suddenly, so close it was almost a shout. “They are worthless. I am going to kill them and dissolve their bones. I am doing it now. You cannot see or hear, but trust me. No one can help you. I have eaten their lights and they were weak.”

_No. No. No no no no no you’re lying you’re lying I just heard them you’re LYING_

A flash of vision, his family suddenly frozen and choked, collapsing, bodies fading into shadows.

Michelangelo screamed, long and loud, shaking. _Stop it you’re lying stop it! Lemme GO. I have to get to them, I have to save them, stop it, don’t TOUCH them!_

Mikey flailed against the shadows and something pinned him down, something morphed into a humanoid shape. He felt cold hands against his arms. Something shaped like a person lay on top of him and pressed down as if trying to melt into his body. Mike opened his mouth to cry out and darkness pushed in.

 _No,_ he whimpered. _No, not this, don’t do this, not this way._

The creature was silent, but he _knew_ it was grinning.

His arms and legs, stretched out, his plastron pushed down on with shadowy hands, carapace melting into the dark under him. The force pushed into his open mouth, into the slit and opening between his legs near his tail, in the corners of his eyes, through his nostrils and ear slits, finding tiny wounds along his limbs to burrow inside. He screamed and he had no mouth. The light was sputtering, the light was fading, the light was being devoured.

The violation was smiling and that was the worst part; he was being stretched open and peeled open and scratched open and there was sickening joy flowing through, and his light was pushing it back but there was no more strength, and Michelangelo fell back, fell down, sank into the viscious flood of power consuming him—

He opened his eyes.

_Light is gone._

The world was gray. He moaned and tried to sit up. A pair of familiar hands pressed against his shoulders but he barely felt it.

“Easy, Mikey,” a familiar voice said. “You’re very weak right now.”

He looked up into the nothing eyes of what used to be Donatello, and plastered on a shaky smile. “Thanks for trying.”

“What was that, Mikey?” Dead Leonardo leaned forward. “How are you feeling?”

He sighed and looked around at the ghosts of his family. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry it killed you. You can leave now.”

A pause. “This ain’t right,” the ghost of Raphael muttered.

“Mikey,” Donnie’s gray ghost said gently. “Mikey, what happened? What did it do to you? Why do you think we’re dead?”

He shook his head and laughed. And he laughed. And he kept laughing. “He showed me. He murdered you and crushed your bones to blackness. All of you. I’m alone. You can stop trying to comfort me. Go…go to wherever it is spirits go. This is too much. I’m done. I’m done. This isn’t real.”

Splinter’s spirit hurt most, how close and real he seemed. Mikey could smell him, feel his fur. What a grand curse, these psychic talents. He could touch the dead.

“My son,” his sensei whispered, “my poor sweet son. You are hallucinating. Your mind has been separated from reality.” Mikey could feel it when his father cupped his face, and he began to shake. “We will find a way to bring you home, I swear it.”

The tears were real. And Mikey felt his own eyes burn. “That’s so nice,” he said hoarsely. “I miss you already.”

He heard Donnie start crying and instinctively reached out, and he wasn’t surprised when he felt his brother fall into his arms. “Who knew it was that easy to touch the dead?” he whispered, and felt Don shake his head, heard him whimper, “Stop saying that, Mikey, we’re alive, this is real, I promise.”

Bodies shifted around him. For a dead person Raph had an amazing grip. “Mikey, stop this! Stop sayin’ we’re dead! We’re not dead! You saw a delusion! We’re _real!_ Come on, come back!” He shook Mikey hard, and Mikey swore he felt his body rock back and forth. He smiled again gently.

“It’s cool, Raph, it’ll take a while to process.” He just smiled, and from the corner of the infirmary, the wraith smiled back.

“ _This is a lie,_ ” the other voice whispered, in the back of his mind, and Mike blinked. A flash of light overwhelmed him and he grabbed his head, gritting his teeth.

“ _He is consuming you. You must fight._ ”

Ohh. No. He was so tired. He could hardly move. He groaned and lay back down, wondering when his injuries would heal so he could stop hurting. Eventually he would need to get back up and tell all his friends that his brothers and father were dead and it was his fault.

_“This is not real. You must believe in me. Believe in your brothers.”_

Too tired. Too…too everything. He closed his eyes. Maybe later.

The flashes of light became brighter, filled with the voices of his family, calling to him, talking to each other. It was warm and comfortable, and he decided he could probably stay there forever. He could feel their hands on him, their voices flowing over him.

It would be all right.

He would be all right.

Everything would be all right.

“ _Come back to us, Michelangelo,”_ they called, more and more desperate.

Mikey sighed, and in his sleep, he smiled.

 


End file.
